Despair is My Hope
by Arsacid
Summary: The Mouth of Sauron remembers who he was after he speaks to his long time subordinate. Tear-jerking end. I wrote it to remind myself and you that Hope always prevails. Contains some mention of rape so rated M.


**DESPAIR IS MY HOPE**

 _ **The dark clouds overhead grumbled as the wind whipped up squalls over a blackened sea, the waves rising in anger and lashing against the cliffs along the coastline of Umbar. The Mouth of Sauron stood at the window of his chambers situated in the castle on the hill from where the affairs of the city were run, surveying this grim scene. A gust of blew buffeted him, whipping against the deathly pale skin that was the only part of him exposed to the elements which his great helm did not cover. A grim scene, all in all, almost prophetic, it seemed to him, as he contemplated the events that had taken place over the last month or so. By all rights, he shouldn't even have been in Umbar, the place of youth and his former residence in Middle-Earth though it may have been, but events had forced him to ride down from Mordor to this coastal stronghold. The ruler of the city, a much feared Corsair captain who had given up his life as a "gentleman of fortune" as he so called it after being crippled while raiding a Gondorian outpost only to utilize the aura of terror that his exploits had built around him to overthrow the governor of Umbar and to usurp his place had died suddenly; foul play had been suspected, given that he was prone to brutalizing his servants for the slightest transgressions and that was exactly what had happened, for a servant who had worked in the kitchens had been caught for stealing and had been lashed publicly, something he had avenged by getting one of his relatives who also worked there to poison the governor. The death had caused much chaos in Umbar and almost resulted in an armed power struggle. Luckily, Mordor had always kept a garrison of Black** **Númenóreans at hand and they'd quickly established order, catching and hanging the perpetrators and disarming the belligerents; he had been dispatched to temporarily assume control and as much as he disliked being separated from his master, he had complied with orders.**_

 _ **Returning had only intensified his dislike; he vaguely remembered the first time he had come to Umbar thousands of years ago and though it had been much better then, he did recall the Haradrim settlements there and the thought of it made his lips curl in disgust. They were no better than beasts, swarthy sub-human filth who bought and traded women like cattle and ate rotting meat. He vividly recalled how the Black Númenóreans had subjugated Umbar under the orders of Sauron and he had personally led the attack, sacking and pillaging the city, slaughtering the menfolk and raping the Haradrim women, virgins and matrons alike. He smiled as he recalled the actions he and his men had perpetrated on their victory, drunk on alcohol and intoxicated by lust. He sighed; he had not had the opportunity to do so in centuries and the only women he had laid were Haradrim and Easterling slaves or Gondorian prisoners who fought all through the act and who showed hatred and contempt even after they had been forced to bear children. Anger rose in him at fate; he was sick that only the ugly would willingly offer themselves to him and that beauty had to be bent and burnt to be broken to his will. As such, many of his slaves he would whip bloody before defiling them in the most perverted of ways, venting out his hatred and rage of the fallen men of Middle Earth on the bodies of their women. Well, that was how it stood, but that was only one of the reasons that he was angry; much more trouble was brewing in the land of Gondor, for the army that had set out from Minas Morgul had been defeated at Pelennor and his messengers had reported that their King had returned. He had sneered at the report, but deep down inside, he** **was disturbed; something about it did not feel right. Regardless, he had contacted his master and the orders had been clear; he was to bring order to Umbar and then to muster a force of arms and immediately ride out for Mordor with his host, for the Dark Lord sensed that a final confrontation was at hand and he wanted the situation dealt with swiftly and ruthlessly. He had already selected a new governor who was to be appointed the next day and within three days, he would muster an army and go back to his master, ready for battle.**_

 _ **He owed much of the success to the Captain of the** **Númenórean Guard for this, a man who had been his sub-ordinate once and who had distinguished himself in the service of Sauron, earning the rank that he now held. They had entered the service of Sauron together and they had both endured far beyond the years allotted to men by the gifts that the Dark Lord had bestowed on them, for they had both coveted immortality and had approached the Dark Lord together. Moreover, the Captain had been his second in command when he was still a man of Númenór and when they'd answered to it's King and had continued to serve under him until he was assigned to the Númenórean Guard of Mordor. Several emotions stirred up inside him which he quickly repressed, for they made him begin to feel things he did not want to feel. He walked away from his window to a desk set against a wall in the threadbare room, furnished minimally with only a wardrobe, a bed, a mirror, a chair and his table from which he took up a scroll and sitting down on the bed, he began to read it. It was a thorough report which the Captain had sent him of the city, everything from it's political situation to it's economic state to detailed recommendations on how things had to be handled; the man had gone far beyond his stipulated duties to maintain order over this rotten city and the Mouth was determined that he ought to be given some or the other reward for it. After all, most of the Dark Lord's servants only obeyed out of fear, bribery, greed and coercion; it took a Númenórean to be loyal and effective and the Captain's action had reduced the Mouth's work by practically half. He rolled up the scroll and placing it back on the table, he opened the door and stepped out, signaling the two guards outside to follow him. He walked down the corridors and took the stairs leading up to the ramparts, out under the gloomy sky. The view looked down onto the giant courtyard which was usually used to host the revels and celebrations thrown by the ruling elite of Umbar; under the Númenórean Guard, it had been converted into a training ground where they were practicing at current, archers, lancers, swordsmen and infantry all. Surveying them grimly was the Captain himself, clad in armour from head to toe, silent and stony-faced, occasionally barking out orders, treading among the sparring troops wordlessly with a sword in hand. The training sessions that the Mouth had witnessed were conducted with a discipline that would have impressed even** **Ar-Pharazôn, for it exceeded the** **Númenórean standards, if such a thing was possible; he was impressed, for even he had been in the Númenórean army once and he did not recall the troops being given such rigorous and thorough training, even if** **Ar-Pharazôn had been the most militaristic of all the Kings.**_

 _ **He was snapped out of his reverie as he realized that the Captain was looking up directly at him. That look seemed to stir something inside him which made him feel the one thing he'd rarely felt in all those long years; doubt. That and something in the Captain's expression stirred a hideous uneasiness within him, as if he could see through him and most importantly, it seemed as if he knew a part of him that even he didn't know about himself** **. That look seemed to say so much, even though he'd said nothing at all. He turned and walked away, unable to meet that piercing and knowing gaze any longer; however, he resolved to have a word with him later. He summoned a page who was passing by and had fallen to his knees at the sight of him. He instructed the boy to deliver a message to the Captain that he was to present himself at the Mouth's chambers after supper and dismissed him. Without further ado, he marched on towards the administrative court, his footsteps echoing on the stone like drumbeats. Most of the administration had been lax and there would be many dismissals, tortures and executions when he determined who the culprits for this mess were…**_

* * *

 _ **Night had fallen and yet the wind howled and the clouds loomed above, making the night even darker; a most violent storm was about to break out and any fishermen and vessels unlucky enough to still be sailing on the rough sea for whatever reason would only be saved by good fortune if the skies did open up. The Mouth of Sauron sat on his bed, looking out of the open window; he had long since become uncaring of the cold or heat since he had become Sauron's, his human weaknesses having faded away to nothing over the millennia. The day had gone better than expected; he had had the chance to torture and put to death in the most gruesome of ways many of the city officials who had been running it's economy and administrative affairs into the ground, without any regard for rank, age or experience. He had filled all the sub-sequent vacancies with some trusted Black** **Númenóreans who had enough experience and acumen in managing affairs of the state and in diplomacy and he had proceeded to give orders for the upsizing and improvement of the navy and army. He had also summoned the guild of necromancers of Umbar in secret later and tasked them with raising specters and wights in service of the Dark Lord for use against any disloyal or errant bureaucrats and for use in the battle to come; they would march with him to Mordor in the days to come. Coming here had not been so bad after all, he reflected. The only thing he had to do was to speak to the Captain and then he could retire for the night; the man was yet to present himself, he thought with some frustration before a guard announced, "The Captain of the Númenórean Guard seeks audience."**_

 _ **The Mouth took a deep breath. "Let him in", he called out.**_

 _ **The door opened and the Captain of the Númenórean Guard stepped in, clad in armour as before, but with his helm held in the crook in his arms, a gesture that spoke of his Númenórean heritage; all officers would present themselves in this manner to their superiors. These little quirks interested the Mouth the most; his Captain had never forgotten Númenór, it seemed to him, for he always kept it's ways and traditions alive in both his daily habits and his military discipline. But that was not what caught his attention alone, for the most noticeable thing to him was that the Captain's eyes, despite his stony face, seemed to be filled with an emotion he could not define and that always piqued his curiosity, for whenever he interacted with him, he tried to guess what lay within those eyes, only for the answer to elude him, no emotion he could identify they displayed.**_

 _" **I am at your service, my Lord; what is it that you require of me?"**_

 _ **The Mouth smiled; any ordinary man would have lost control over his bladder at the sight, but the Captain continued looking at him, his gaze both reverent and alert. He spoke, "Guards, shut the door and stand guard over the corridor; stay at your posts until I dismiss the Captain." The two grim-faced sentries complied and it wasn't until that he heard the stomp of their retreating feet subside that he began to speak, "Captain, greetings. I wanted to some of your good work here; I've decided you must be rewarded for you have gone and done far more than you were needed to and you have done it excellently, much better than the rabble who were in charge before."**_

 _ **The Captain inclined his head respectfully, "My Lord, I had only desired to maintain order in one of the greatest settlements in these barbaric parts of Middle-Earth; Umbar has a rich heritage and is of great strategic importance, moreover, making it all the more necessary for things to be kept running smoothly."**_

 _ **His answer surprised the Mouth; he had anticipated something of the sort, but it still was enough to give him a mild jolt. "You care for it's heritage?", he questioned contemplatively.**_

 _" **Yes, my Lord, it's preservation has always been at the forefront of my mind, even as things got progressively worse, as well as to look after the true descendants of Númenór who still live here. They are the most loyal are represent the best of this city, even if the Corsairs hold formal power, for most of the trade is handled by those of Númenórean stock. Without them, Umbar would be no different from Harad" he answered courteously. His answered had impressed the Mouth, who put another question to him, "Well, whatever your reasons, you have yet to be rewarded for your exemplary work; what would you ask of me?" This visibly affected the Captain for surprise showed on his unsmiling face before he reassumed his impassive demeanour and hastily, "No reward is needed, my Lord, for what I did I did for myself as much as the Númenóreans of this city. After all, I am a Númenórean too and I couldn't simply stand by and watch a Númenórean city go to ruin."**_

 _ **His words stirred something in him; he spoke up in an amused tone masking the unease inside, "Númenór sank under the waves over thousands of years ago, Captain; that land whose memory you keep so fastidiously alive is dead and gone."**_

 _ **There was no answer this time; the Captain looked down at his boots, whatever little of his visible that the Mouth could see being flushed with some indiscernible emotion. "Are you sure you want nothing?" He drew closer and laid a hand on the Captain's pauldron, causing him to start and look up. "What is on your mind, Captain? What secret are you hiding? I ask you this not as your commander, but as your compatriot. What is it that troubles you?"**_

 _ **The Captain swallowed several times before speaking, "My lord, I'm not sure you'd like what you'd hear."**_

 _" **Have no fear of punishment", he answered. "Speak your mind without hesitation."**_

 _ **The Captain took a deep breath and said, "I request you address me by name for the entirety of the conversation, my Lord."**_

 _ **The Mouth was stunned by this and then laughed, cackling with a blood-curdling laughter in his mirth. "You expect me to remember your name, one given over three thousand years ago, when I've forgotten my own? I don't recall using that name since the Battle of Barad** - **dûr, much less yours" he merrily chuckled.**_

 _" **It is Ar-Zim** **ǐlgor, my lord".**_

 _ **A gust of wind blew into the room from the open window as a hush fell on them. The Mouth felt as if someone had splashed him with cold water, only the shock being ten times worse. All his mirth had evaporated and for the first time since he could remember, he felt unsure of what he was dealing with.**_

 _" **You recall your name still, Captain?"**_

 _" **Yes, my lord. It is one of the few things I have left that are truly mine anymore" came the reply in a low voice, one that carried regret, but not for that which had caused such unrest in him. He shifted ever so slightly and continued, "You'd asked me if I wish for something, my lord. What I wish for is something you cannot grant me, for it is beyond your or even the Dark Lord's power to grant."**_

 _ **It was as if he was cutting into him with a whip with every word he spoke, the Mouth felt. "State that which you desire so much that neither I nor the Dark Lord can grant you."**_

 _ **Ar-Zim** **ǐ** **lgor** **spoke up more confidently this time, "My lord, I wish to be a Man of the West again, a** **Númenórean before it's fall, to live on that blessed isle again, to be loved by it's people, to be made love to by it's fair maidens, to father children with them and to die surrounded by the ones I love. But most of all, I want to lie in the shade of Nimloth the Fair, the symbol of Númenór as it was meant to be, to see it's leaves dance in the wind again. That is what I want and that is what's lost to me forever; the only other thing I wish for is death, but the Dark Lord will not relinquish his hold over me, even in death."**_

 _ **He had trodden out into dangerous waters, and that was very much evident, seeing the resignation on his face which clearly indicated that he expected punishment, but his expression was of tired resignation rather than fearful, as if he were simply weary of it all and wanted it dealt to him swiftly. The Mouth had promised that he had nothing to fear and leave to speak, but he was being pushed to decide between his duty to Sauron and his promise to his subordinate. "Do you mean to say you have tired of serving the Dark Lord, Captain? Is this open treason?" he asked with a subtle yet dangerous edge to his voice.**_

 _ **Ar-Zim** **ǐ** **lgor wearily replied, "No, my lord, I do not intend to commit treason, for my soul is bound to the Dark Lord's will and ever was since the day I entered his service, and even if it were not, there is no forgiveness for my crimes, for I have served against whom the Valar themselves blessed; I am guilty of crimes against the West itself and only punishment awaits, no matter what."**_

 _ **Now fear took hold of the Mouth, corrosive and cloying, such fear as he had not felt since Sauron had lost his Ring in the Battle of Barad** - **dûr and his spirit had fled, leaving Mordor leaderless and chaotic. "W-w-what…" he managed to sputter, barely aware of what he was saying, so shocked was he.**_

 _" **The two of us are the worst traitors to our people, my lord; we carried out the worst of** **Ar-Pharazôn's orders when we were still in** **Númenór. We attended the sacrificial ceremonies in that foul temple that Sauron had erected to Morgoth, the Black Enemy of Arda whom our ancestors had warred against, we oppressed the Faithful, we cut down the White Tree and we gave ourselves in service to Sauron for a twisted immortality, one where we will be doomed to serve as his wraiths if we are slain or poisoned", he spoke in a voice that sounded hollow and defeated, not unlike those of convicts sentenced to the gallows. "I recall the day they burned Nimloth the Fair, for I was among those present for the ceremony. As they burned her, it felt as if they were burning a part of me too. Something screamed inside me to intervene, to stop that blasphemy, but I stood and watched as it happened. I still cannot forget it even after all the time that has passed since."**_

 _ **He continued, "If you recall, I left the very next day for Umbar, first mate on the very ship you were Captain of. I remember looking back on Númenór as the black smoke hung over it and a grey sky loomed overhead and that was the last I saw of it; dark, tarnished and dying, for we were never to return to it. Our voyage to Middle-Earth was perilous, for we were beset by storms and many did not make it, much like the Ñoldor when they forsook Aman to pursue Morgoth, which is quite fitting; we both acted in defiance of the Valar. We were one of the three ships that made it to Umbar and it became our home for not long after, disaster struck Númenór. I saw it in my dreams; the waves rose up and dragged our beloved home to the bottom of the sea and she became** **Akallabêth, She Who is Downfallen. All those who we left behind perished, all that we held dear lost. And it was our fault, for we had brought this doom upon us as much as Sauron or Ar-Pharazôn did. What makes I worse for me was that I did not repent even then and rode on to Mordor with you, seeking immortality and offered myself to Sauron, closing all doors of salvation for myself forever. Long have the years been in his service and ever have I seen evil grow in malice, much of it have I perpetrated it myself. For I defiled the Gondorian women who were taking captive, forcing them to bear my seed, breaking and corrupting the blood of** **Númenór much the same as Morgoth Bauglir did to the Eldar in the Early Days of Arda. I have done things that are lower than what the most bestial orcs could do, slain the true sons of Númenór by spoken word and sword and carried out the will of one of the greatest enemies of the Valar, the one who brought destruction on beloved Númenór. I wish I could be punished for all I've done, for this self-hatred kills me every day, knowing what I've done and that I still elude justice. I would have killed myself, but death would offer no release; nay, it would be thrallhood more base than the one I am in now. Even Túrin Turambar found release in death and the curse on him was the work of the Enemy, not entirely his own fault; I can claim no such thing, for it was I who sold myself out for an eternal life of serfhood, blinded by the fear of death as I was, which I now indeed recognize to be the Gift of Men granted by** **Ilúvatar Himself."**_

 _ **Every single word had felt like a spear being impaled into the Mouth, for he gaped at his Captain in open horror; this would have surely been punished in the most terrible of ways by the Dark Lord in person. He could just about control it; he was ready to quiver in fear of all that had been said, but what as worse was that it brought back the flood of memories and feelings he had tried to rid himself of so long ago, believing to have finally become free of them until now. He swallowed and with a superhuman effort, he spoke out in the most death cold and neutral tone he could muster, "** **Númenór is gone, Captain; it is dead and you'd do well to forget it. We are men of Mordor now; THAT is where our allegiance lies and you'd do well to remember it, unless you wish to face the wrath of the Dark Lord."**_

 _ **The threat inspired just the slightest amount of fear in Ar-Zim** **ǐ** **lgor, but it was gone as soon as it came, replaced by the same emotion his eyes held, undecipherable and now terrifying in the light of all that had been said. "If Sauron wishes to punish me, so be it, my Lord, for I do wish to be for my crimes, but I don't consider speaking the truth about him one. The only crimes I have committed are those I confessed to you and I'd consider any torture a penance, though it may not cleanse me of my sins" he said. "Do you know what the worst thing is, my Lord?" he paused for a moment. "I cannot shed tears anymore, even if I try; I have lost the ability to mourn all that which I held dear the way I want to. That weighs most heavily on my shoulders, my lord, a burden on my heart for all the years I have served Mordor. As for treason, you need not worry; I am incapable of betraying Sauron for I'm bound by his will; I cannot ever escape his service. As to our fate, if we prevail over the forces of the West, all Middle-Earth will fall into darkness and all that we once loved will be lost; if we fall, then we will perish and meet our fate before Mandos and then beyond Arda, where none know what lies. I know I am unworthy, but I believe that I may yet be shown Númenór as it once was, with Nimloth the Fair in full bloom; that is what I hope to see even if it's just once before being condemned to punishment for all eternity."**_

 _ **The Mouth heard this all with surprising calmness, his emotions in check, and then he spoke. "So I take it you want nothing then but to speak of what has troubled you all these years in the Dark Lord's service? If so, do you have anything more to add?" Getting no answer from Ar-Zim** **ǐ** **lgor who simply stared at him expressionlessly at him, he continued without a shred of regret in his tone, just as he had done in all his years as Lieutenant of Barad** - **dûr, "Then you may take your leave; this conversation will remain between us unless the Dark Lord takes it upon himself to punish you for your transgressions, in which case you will not receive any intercession for your sake from me."**_

 _ **Ar-Zim** **ǐ** **lgor stayed silent for a while before he straightened himself and said, "As you command, my lord."**_

 _ **He made for the door and then stopped. "If you ever get an opportunity to repent, do not seize to hesitate, my lord; it is the only hope that will be given to us ever again."**_

 _" **You are dismissed, Captain" the Mouth said with a tone of finality in his voice, his back to the door.**_

 _ **There was silence before he heard the door being opened behind him. "The consequences of your deeds will become clear to you if you look within yourself, Prince Voronsil." The door shut and the thud of brisk footsteps was all that could be heard before they grew fainter and fainter and finally disappeared.**_

 _ **Of all the shocks, this was the worst; the Captain had addressed him by the very name he had chosen to forget so long ago. He tottered over to his desk and sinking into the chair placed before it, he pulled off his helm and stared at his reflection in the mirror set on the wall. He ran his hands over every part of his pale face, with it's regal nose, high cheekbones, almost elvish in cast, his caucus green eyes, his high forehead and his long dark hair. A beautiful face all in all, marred by two things; firstly, it held an expression of horror that warped it in a horrifying way and secondly and more importantly, it held the grey tinge of death. He had endured in Sauron's service, withering away but yet unable to die, for only by blade or poison could he be slain and would then become a wraith for as long as Sauron's power endured. And then he began to remember. Voronsil he was, born into the ruling house of** **Númenór in the reign of** **Ar-Pharazôn to whom he was a distant cousin. His family was one of the Faithful, until his aged father, to whom his birth had been a late blessing in life finally passed, causing him much grief and hardening his heart against the Valar and the Elves. He had gone on to become a close follower of Ar-Pharazôn, become acquainted with** **Ar-Zim** **ǐ** **lgor, who had been a son of the King's quartermaster,** **earned disownment from his mother who died of a broken heart as well as his family and had begun to persecute the faithful, sacrificing many of his own kin to Morgoth and then leaving for Middle-Earth on the King's orders. He had been present for the burning of Nimloth the night before his departure however and his voyage that followed had indeed been one which he feared would be his doom; however, he had made it to Middle-Earth and though he'd never disclosed it, he too had witnessed** **Númenór sink beneath the waves in his dreams. He woke up crying and that had been the last time he had ever done so. This had been what had driven him to close every door in his heart to the Valar and when Sauron returned to Mordor, he had sought him out with Ar-Zim** **ǐ** **lgor with whom he'd travelled to Middle-Earth and received the immortality he now possessed and had been in Mordor's service ever since, from the fall of Barad** - **dûr, to the stirring of the Dark Lord in Mirkwood to the war against Gondor they were in. And as he recalled his father in mother, something stirred in his heart; grief. He finally understood what his Captain's eyes had held; grief mingled with despair. For the first time since the Fall of Númenór, he attempted to cry.**_

 _ **But lo! His efforts yielded no result and force himself as much as he did, he could not bring himself to shed tears. He tried shaking his head, screaming, slapping his face; nothing worked. He drew his sword in a rage and hacked at everything in sight; desk, chair and bed, all he hewed to pieces, yet it did no good. The guards burst in, having heard the commotion and stood aghast in fear at the sight before them; the furniture was sliced to pieces and a phantasmal figure with a snarl on his face and a drawn sword in hand greeted them. "My lo-" their words died in their throat and the Mouth roared "OUT! NO ONE ENTERS BUT BY MY WORD!" They didn't need to be told twice; they shut the doors behind them as fast as they could on their exit. The Mouth dropped his sword with a clang and sank to his knees. For the price he had paid had become clear to him at last towards the close. He held his head in his hands and screamed out his grief, yet no relief he got. He screamed and screamed until his throat was sore, then he got up and stumbled to the open window. As he watched, the skies finally opened up and pummeled the sea in a deafening roar. The waves rose angrier than ever and lashed against the cliffs in fury, but the storm raging within him dimmed the roar outside. He stood staring at the window, unmindful of the spray that proceeded to drench him until he felt it; the call of his master. He shut the window in haste and sunk to his knee and called out, "Master, I am at Thy service."**_

 _ **A whisper sounded in his head, spoken by a voice that sounded older than time itself, even as he felt the presence of his Master in his mind.**_

 _ **"** **The task I had sent thee to fulfill, has thou carried it out?** **"**_

 _ **He shook as he answered,** " **In part, my Lord; the city is in safe hands now. All that remains is to gather a host and within three days, I will be ready to ride at the head of a host that will surpass even Thine expectations."**_

 _ **The presence seemed to convey a curiosity that sent a shiver down his spine; it was almost as if his Master knew.**_

 _ **"** **Yet that is not all. Thou art troubled by something. What is it?** **"**_

 _ **He dreaded to answer and stumbled, "M-my Lord, 'tis but a trifle; it is no real concern that warrants worry. I will handle it personally for thee."**_

 _ **The voice seemed to sigh in weariness and almost scornful and** **understanding...**_ **pity _(he wondered at it)._**

 _ **"** **Thou fear for him.** **"**_

 _ **The Mouth blanched; the Dark Lord knew.**_

 _ **"** **I will punish him, but not as thou expect; he is to march with thee to Mordor and will lead the hosts from the front under thy command. That is the punishment I pronounce for him. Relay this to him. Do not fear; he cannot betray me and he knows it. As for thee, I know what thy heart says; it is no crime to acknowledge the secrets thou bury, but none are hidden from me and none can be. Relay my orders and make haste with thy departure.** **" The presence seemed to envelop his entire mind and for moment, he saw a great lidless Eye which blazed with fire before it faded from his mind along with the presence, leaving behind only darkness and silence.**_

 _ **The Mouth trembled for several minutes; an audience with the Dark Lord always left him thus when they spoke with their minds. He finally gathered his wits and stood up in the dark. The Dark Lord had pronounced the punishment; his will would be done. Even his punishment was simply a fulfillment of duty and he had hinted at the transgression he had committed himself, yet had not meted out any punishment. Once again, he was reminded how much he was at the Dark Lord's mercy, forever long he endured.**_

 _ **His thoughts turned to** **Ar-Zim** **ǐ** **lgor; the Captain's words had rankled his heart and he had finally come to see his loss, even if he was opposed to his position. And then, he remembered. He reached for a chest under the now destroyed bed and pulling it out, he opened it. He searched through it until he came upon a silk bundle which he unwrapped and gazed on it, lost in memory. He had taken this on his last night in Númenór in a strange sense of malice blended with sentimentality, a trophy of his defilement of a symbol of the Valar and a token from a world that he had helped destroy. It would mean far more to his Captain and that was what he would give him. Yes, it was fitting indeed and having made up his mind about it, he wrapped the object up carefully again and standing up and replacing his helm on his head, he called out for a guard…**_

* * *

 _ **Ar-Zim** **ǐ** **lgor shut the door on the messenger, the bundle he had been given in his hands. He did not know what it held, but that it was from the Mouth as the** **guard at the door had said. He sat down on his bed and undid it with shaking hands and gazed at the object which it held. Realization hit him and he keened out his tearless grief; it was a root of Nimloth the Fair, the last token of** **Númenór, She Who is Downfallen, that he would ever possess.**_

* * *

 _It was at the Battle of Morannon that their story comes to an end; when the One Ring was cast into the fires of Mount Doom, Sauron's dominion over his forces broke and his spirit fled, leading to the hosts of Mordor to scatter. Ar-Zimǐlgor, having finally given in to his desire for death charged the enemy with the battle cry of Númenór on his lips and was cut down by arrows. The Mouth was witness to this and in that moment, rage and sorrow stirred in his heart and he led his Númenórean Guard in a charge towards the enemy. Many a Gondorian did he slay and many a rider did he un-horse before being driven back and knocked off his steed. A Gondorian lance impaled him through his heart and final moments were spent lying beside his Captain and his former friend, his dead face brightened by a smile and his unseeing eyes expressing contentment, as if he had beheld something wonderful. But most striking of all were the tears gushing from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks, the proof of the curse of darkness having been lifted from him. And then the Mouth himself smiled and wept one last time before the darkness engulfed him._

 _It would be long after that an Eagle came from the West, bearing a message for Glorfindel in Imladris. Two men of Númenórean lineage had come before Mandos to have their souls judged and the Doomsman of the Valar had come to a decision that they had to pass through_ _ **Fos' lmir**_ _, the Bath of Flame; if their souls emerged unscathed, they were to meet the same fate that befell every Man and pass beyond the walls of Arda and if they could not bear the flames, there would be Nothing and it would entail the destruction of their very beings for good. The two accepted and passed through the Bath of Flame, emerging unscathed and walked out of the darkness and beyond the circles of the world to where none have gone save Men and none have ever returned from._

 _And thus ends this great story that was until now unheard which came out of one of the darkest times in the history of Middle-Earth._


End file.
